A

MY GARDEN

GARDEN is a lovesome thing, God wot!
Rose plot,

Fringed pool,

Ferned grot,

The veriest school

Of Peace; and yet the fool

Contends that God is not

Not God? In gardens? When the
Eve is cool?

Nay, but I have a sign;

'Tis very sure God walks in mine!

THOMAS E. BROWN

A

A LITTLE GARDEN

LITTLE garden on a bleak hillside

Where deep the heavy, dazzling mountain

snow

Lies far into the Spring. The sun's pale glow
Is scarcely able to make patches wide
About the single rosebush. All denied
Of Nature's tender ministries. But no,-
For wonder-working faith has made it blow
With flowers many hued and starry-eyed.
Here sleeps the sun long, idle summer hours;
Here butterflies and bees fare far to rove
Amid the crumpled leaves of poppy flowers;
Here four-o'clocks, to the passionate night above
Fling whiffs of perfume, like pale incense showers.
A little garden, loved with a great love!

AMY LOWELL

C

SUNRISE ON RYDAL WATER

OME down at dawn from windless hills

Into the valley of the lake,

Where yet a larger quiet fills

The hour, and mist and water make

With rocks and reeds and island boughs

One silence and one element,

Where wonder goes surely as once

It went

By Galilean prows.

Moveless the water and the mist,
Moveless the secret air above,
Hushed, as upon some happy tryst
The poised expectancy of love;
What spirit is it that adores

What mighty presence yet unseen?
What consummation works apace
Between

These rapt enchanted shores?

Never did virgin beauty wake
Devouter to the bridal feast

Than moves this hour upon the lake
In adoration to the east;

Here is the bride a god may know,
The primal will, the young consent,
Till surely upon the appointed mood
Intent

The god shall leap—and, Lo,

Over the lake's end strikes the sun,
White, flameless fire; some purity
Thrilling the mist, a splendour won
Out of the world's heart. Let there be
Thoughts, and atonements and desires,
Proud limbs, and undeliberate tongue,
Where now we move with mortal oars
Among

Immortal dews and fires.

So the old mating goes apace,

Wind with the sea, and blood with thought,
Lover with lover; and the grace
Of understanding comes unsought
When stars into the twilight steer,
Or thrushes build among the may,
Or wonder moves between the hills,
And day

Comes up on Rydal Mere.

JOHN DRINKWATER

LINES FROM "THE EVERLASTING

B

MERCY"

Y this the sun was all one glitter, The little birds were all in twitter; Out of a tuft a little lark

Went higher up than I could mark,
His little throat was all one thirst
To sing until his heart should burst,
To sing aloft in golden light

His song from blue air out of sight.
The mist drove by, and now the cows
Came plodding up to milking house.
Followed by Frank, the Callow's cowman,
Who whistled, "Adam was a ploughman."
There came such cawing from the rooks,
Such running chuck from little brooks,
One thought it March, just budding green,
With hedgerows full of celandine.
An otter 'out of stream and played,
Two hares came loping up and stayed;
Wide-eyed and tender-eared, but bold.
Sheep bleated up by Penny's fold.
I heard a partridge covey call,